


A home you make yourself

by KiwiLombax15



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, Protective bastion, bastion is good and pure, did you know sweden has bears?, grumpy dad torbjorn, some violence but not enough to warrent rating
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-10
Updated: 2017-03-10
Packaged: 2018-10-02 04:12:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10209368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KiwiLombax15/pseuds/KiwiLombax15
Summary: Bastion has come home to stay.Torbjorn is not happy about this.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Bastion would not have come across the name "Ganymede" in their travels in the woods, so I headcanon they just refer to the birb as "Friend"
> 
> Want more like this? Support the writer here! https://ko-fi.com/fruitbird

Getting the damn robot home turned out to be like herding cats. Not even that. His fluffy calico, Mitza, followed him like a loyal dog around the house. This rust bucket just wandered back and forth booping at everything from a rabbit to an interesting patch of moss.  
In the end he got it moving by plucking a wildflower and holding it just out of the Bastions reach, leading it carefully to the old run down barn on the edge of his property, bordering the forest.  
He'd meant to do something with it. Right now it was a part time storage shed and full time playhouse for the children, kept padded with soft hay in case they tripped.  
“Alright, bot. How much human do you understand?”  
“Bweeep?”  
Torbjorn sighed.  
“Lets try something.” He talked slow and careful, like a kindergarten teacher. “Now, when humans say “yeeees” they nod their heads, like this. Understand?” He demonstrated, and the bastion copied him. “And when they mean “noooo” they shake their heads, like this.” The bastion obediantly copied. “Do you understand?”  
The bastion nodded and beeped, and he breathed out.  
“OK. We make progress. Now, here here the rules of this place. You live here now. You cannot leave here unless I say so.”  
The light on its head flickered, almost like blinking, and it jabbed a finger in various directions, indicating the barn interior.  
“Yes. Here, in this barn. If you leave and someone sees you, the police will take you down. Kill you. Remember the men in black, who shot at you?”  
Its eye flashed red briefly, and it nodded.  
“They'll come back if they see you. Put me in jail.” He glanced at the bird that clung to its shoulder like glue and played dirty. “Take your little friend away and shove him in a cage.”  
He expected rage, not the robot to suddenly scream in distress, shrinking back and reaching a hand to protect the little bird. It shook its head frantically.  
“Beep! Beeeep!”  
“See, that's why you've got to stay hidden here. I'll let you out to poke birds nests or whatever it is you do if I think it's safe, but right now you stay put.” He scratched his beard and frowned. “Right. I'll give you a maintenance check just as soon as I try and explain to my wife why there's a murderbot in the barn...”  
…  
Surprisingly, Hilde took the news well after the initial panic, raising her eyes to the sky in a worldless plea as to why she'd chosen to marry such a reckless husband.  
“I have a pulse rifle from my...the old days.” she'd said, and Torbjorn remembered she'd barely been a child during the crisis, helping to protect her village at far too young an age. Guilt bit him hard as he wondered what exactly was going through her head. What old fears had he dredged up?  
He patted her hand, and she squeezed it tight. She trusted him. They trusted each other.  
He turned to the little crowd of his children.  
“Alright. Now listen closely. From now on the barn is off limits.”  
There was a chorus of whines and complaints.  
“Daaaaad, my treehouse project is there!”  
“I'll get it for you, Ingrid. But none of you are to set foot in there under any circumstances. Yes, this bastion doesn't seem aggressive. Yes, it's made no move to hurt me. Yet. I don't know how badly its damaged or how long it'll stay in this state. I want you to consider it the same as a tiger that's used to people. Sure, it seems friendly now, but it's still a wild predator at heart, and theres no telling when it could turn around and take an arm. Are we all clear?”  
There was a glum chorus.  
“Yes, dad...”  
“Good. Now go wash up for dinner. And remember, none of you are to breathe a word to anyone outside this family about what's in this barn.”  
…  
The bastion liked the old barn.  
There was an owl here, for one thing. Friend would sit between their fingers, fluffed up and angry as bastion watched the sleek little hunter chase mice at night. The same mice clambered over them, bastion smelling more like scenery than any threat.  
They used to be distressed, watching creatures hunt others. But they soon learned this wasn't like the flashes of data that came sometimes, memories of blood and screams. The bigger things seemed to be using the smaller things as fuel. That made sense. All things needed fuel. Bastion ran on sunshine, but not everything could.  
They caught bugs not just to look at, but to give to Friend. Friend liked fat green bugs best.  
The little grumpy human came in each day. Bastion liked them. They'd fixed up the corrosion starting to form in the left leg joint, for one. The human would hook them up to a glowing tablet and examine it for a long time, flicking screens back and forth, before yelling very strange words and stomping off.  
The barn was their home. The humans warnings of danger to Friend had left their circuits firing madly all day, and now they stuck rigidly to the barns limits unless Grumpy Human said it was OK. They said nothing about the doorway, though, and Bastion would often sit _exactly_ on the limit of the doorway and watch the forest, basking in the sunshine.  
It was nice to have shelter. It had vague images of a storage facility, back in the Before Days. Free from rain and rust.  
Movement flickered in their optic sensors, something small. A rabbit, maybe?  
A tiny human toddled towards the barn. They'd seen a small group of them at the house Grumpy Human lived in, peering through a hole in the barn wall. But this was the first time they'd seen one close up. Baby animals tended to have bigger eyes and heads than grown ones, and it seemed humans were no exceptions.  
It wandered towards him, making little cooing noises. Bastion stayed still. They weren't supposed to leave the barn. There had been no rule about making noises, though, and they beeped at the tiny human, waving a hand.  
It made a noise that sounded happy and tried to go faster, falling over in the attempt and crawling towards them.  
How was one supposed to handle young creatures? The parents of the animals they had seen had been very protective. Maybe baby animals were fragile? That made sense. They would need to be careful. They held a hand out and a tiny hand closed over metal fingers, pulling itself to its feet and gurgling. Bastion booped back, and the toddler grinned.  
The little human stuffed a hand into its pocket and brought something out. What seemed to be a pale disc. A brief scan indicated it was an edible item made of what seemed to be mostly gluten and sucrose, with chunks of a brown product equally high in sucrose. This did Bastion no good. They ran on sunshine, but they took the item anyway.  
Fingers capable of crushing skulls barely disturbed a crumb as they held the thing up to their optic sensor. They noticed Friend seemed intrigued, so they crushed it to powder in one mighty fist to allow Friend to eat it easier.  
The little humans face scrunched up and it began to whimper, small distressed noises that panicked Bastion. Desperately, they held out the handful of crumbs, showing Friend perched comfortably on their fingers and pecking away. The infants face cleared, watching the bird with eyes full of an emotion they didn't recognize. Realization dawned as it placed both hands on their arm to steady itself, leaning in closer.  
That feeling they got every time they saw something new and wonderful, the powerful urge to experience it, to see it, to be there.  
Bastion had no word for “awe”. Not yet. But they knew it when they saw it.  
The human made a bubbly noise, a happy noise, loud and joyful, and a fierce wave of love washed over Bastion. The same love they felt for Friend, the woods, every amazing thing they found.  
“Bwee!”  
The human looked curiously at them for a moment, then tried to copy the noise. A little game started, the pair swapping beeps and boops. All good fun.  
A rustle from the woods caught Bastions attention, and they looked away from the laughing child.  
Bear.  
They'd seen bears. Seen what bears did to smaller animals. This one limped, ribs jutting from its side. It had been injured. Unable to hunt and desperate. Wild eyes saw the child. Massive teeth bared. It rose to its hind legs and roared.  
The infant screamed.  
Dull terror filled Bastions circuitry as it saw the bear start to charge them, eyes on the human. Terror.  
Then rage.  
This child was their friend!  
No one would hurt their friend!  
But Grumpy Human said not to leave the barn.  
A flicker of an old programme rose in the corrupted files of their old programming.  
_If scenario results in danger to self or other -corrupted- units, permission to break orders and-corrupted-_  
They grabbed the infant and swung it behind them, stepping out of the barn into the bears path. No time to take turret form. No space. The child could get hurt.  
Furious at the intruder, the bear swung a powerful paw, and Bastions head rattled as deep grooves were scoured into the metal. Claws and fangs dented and tore.  
They balled a fist and punched, and the animal roared in pain, redoubling its efforts to kill the threat. Bastion punched and punched and punched, the bears thick hide a powerful shield as they screamed high and desperate.  
This was no crisis battlefield, Bastion just one of hundreds, lost in a crowd.  
This was _personal._  
No time for flashbacks, only immediate fear of the child dragged away like the deer they'd seen fall to predators, limp and quiet.  
They raised their rifle arm and a chance blow snapped it off at the joint. Bastions didn't feel pain, but warning notifications flooded its HUD. Distracted by the humans cry of horror, it didn't notice the teeth till they were ripping at their paneling. Wires snapped and tore. Sparks flew.  
They were slowing down.  
Something hot and bright flashed, and the bear squealed. It tumbled back, a smoking burn on a forelimb, and dashed away into the woods.  
Grumpy Human stood, shaking arm still outstretched as its rivet gun smoked. The gun was tossed aside as they sprinted forward, scooping up the baby human.  
Bastion didn't understand the noises they were making, a low, repeated gasping. They didn't understand why water was leaking from Grumpy Humans eye.  
They understood the way they clung desperately to the little one, like they would vanish if Grumpy Human let them go.  
They tried to make their way towards them, to offer comfort in some way, and something in them gave. They tumbled forward to the ground. Soil blinded them as they wriggled in distress, internal systems warning against too much movement.  
Strong hands rolled them over and they sat up shakily.  
“Easy there, now. You've done your part.”  
Grumpy Human reached down and picked up the snapped off rifle. They looked different.  
They were smiling.  
Tracks of moisture still streaked down their face, and Bastion reached out to touch one curiously. Grumpy Human only laughed.  
“I'm alright, ya old tin can. Just got scared, is all. You did good, bot. Thank you. Thank you so much...God, if you weren't here...”  
The humans eyes went odd and distant, before they shook their head and smiled again.  
“Come on. Think you can get up?”  
Wires and torn metal dangled freely, but they managed it. The little human reached out from behind its fathers legs and patted them on the leg. Bastion waved.  
“Alright then, rust bucket. Lets get you patched up.”  
…  
The barn echoes with shrieks of laughter. Older children lounge on hay piles, doing homework and reading. A younger one clambers up the rafters, egged on by their siblings. From their little feeder, Friend watches as a girl puts the finishing touches on a little birdhouse. The barn is full of sunshine and movement and lazily drifting hay.  
And Bastion sits stone still, arms outstretched. A swing has been tied secure at each wrist, a red headed girl shrieking with laughter as she soars higher and higher. Next to Bastion, other children squabble, arguing over who has next go. The youngest naps at the omnics feet.  
Safe and secure.


End file.
